Needing is One Thing, but Getting's Another
by futurerustfuture-dust
Summary: "Widow Mode as Clint had lovingly named it right before getting punched in the gut, wasn't a physical alteration: she looked normal, spoke normally mostly (there was that one time when she had spouted Norse and Thor was convinced Loki had possessed her), and Natasha was, on the whole, her normal self. Except for that small detail where she tried to kill anyone, and everyone."


Please Don't Cry You Liar

She'd isolated herself out of need, not because she wanted to. She never wanted to slip into the head space of her Red Room days, never liked the tell tale signs of another attack: the heavy heart, the trouble swallowing, the double vision that came on as sudden as a heart attack. So she'd barricaded herself on her floor in the tower, told Jarvis to keep everyone else off unless there was a call to assemble. Tony had overruled it once, and the following episode had kept him away and off her case for the next few weeks. Granted, it also had resulted in Natasha adding a few new holes to the walls, and a hell of a lot more debris than she'd intended. The ripped off cupboard doors did make life that much easier, and wouldn't Steve be proud of her for finding the silver lining?

Not for the first time she wondered if this was how Bruce felt the first time he'd Hulked out. Not that she was tripling in side and turning green, of course. She might have felt better if she did; she could handle the Hulk, all pure rage and pure aggression. No, Widow Mode as Clint had lovingly named it right before getting punched in the gut, wasn't a physical alteration: she looked normal, spoke normally mostly (there was that one time when she had spouted Norse and Thor was convinced Loki had possessed her), and Natasha was, on the whole, her normal self.

Except for that small detail where she tried to kill anyone, and everyone. That was a small hitch, she supposed.

She never knew what would set her off, could never tell just when or why she would lose it she didn't even have a trigger word. It was as simple as one moment she would be talking to one of the guys, the next she had her hand wrapped around their throat and was pushing until their heart pounded deliciously beneath her palm, furious for life. The trick was that they would have to somehow, and this was where things got interesting, find a way to make her let go. If it was Thor he had no problem pulling free and could usually hold her arms tight behind her back until Nat wore herself out. Even Steve could, though he was loath to. Said he felt like he was holding her against her will and it made him uncomfortable, the poor guy. She'd had to help him overcome the traumatic experience once she'd managed to slip out of Widow Mode, even though her legs had felt like they were made of jelly and her head felt as if Thor had thrown Mjolnir at it. The other guys weren't so lucky. Clint had tried cognitively recalibrating her so many times it was a miracle Nat wasn't permanently brain dead, and Tony just yelled for one of the other guys to help, or else fought her off from within the Iron Man suit.

Bruce had it worst, and Nat's heart ached for her friend. Whenever the Other Guy sensed Bruce's life was in danger he would transform to protect him, and the Widow didn't seem to fear the green behemoth in front of her. Nat had been hoping it would scare the shit out of Her as it did Nat. Nope. All the Widow seemed to find was a tougher kill, and the encounters would leave Natasha in near full body casts and on so much morphine she couldn't stand if she'd been able to. Once he was back to normal Bruce was always so apologetic, horrified as he patched her up, and no matter what Nat would tell him about how it wasn't his fault he always brought her flowers or those sugar cookies from the small bakery on Queens that he knew she loved.

How did he keep such a cap on it? She'd wondered it for the past week of her self-imposed confinement, between pacing back and forth, doing push-ups, pull-ups, and sitting on her ass to watch terrible reality TV. She never thought it possible but she was jealous of the scientist, of his remarkable self control, of how cool and calm he managed to keep himself even when everything seemed to go to shit. He only ever changed if his life was in danger, and she couldn't blame the Other Guy for being so protective. Bruce was pretty great. So what the hell set off the Widow? She wasn't sure if she even wanted to know some days, sure that there was some psychobabble that could explain at least some of it. If she ever bothered finding out. All she cared about was making it stop.

"Miss. Romanov, you have a visitor." Jarvis' cool voice came over the intercom. Nat felt her heart skip. No. No no no! Tony was supposed to know better! She got to her feet from the bar seat she'd perched herself on to grab something to throw at him. It wouldn't be anything that would hurt him too badly; just scare the shit out of him. As if Widow didn't do that already.

"Jarvis please don't let Tony come up-."

The door to the staircase opened and closed before she could get the rest of the words out. Her head whipped around to see Bruce smiling at her, hands outstretched in front of him, as though it would somehow keep her from losing her mind. As if she knew what would make her stop. She swallowed hard and eyed him with cool eyes, folding her arms over her chest as she took a step backwards.

"Bruce, you shouldn't be here." Nat cleared her throat when her voice caught, the first indication of fear she'd given in months (that, too, was when she stood against Bruce, but he was a very different man and she a very confused and scared woman.)

"Natasha, you don't have to isolate yourself." Bruce stepped closer, his movements slow for the both of them. There was something hiding within the pair of them, two monsters just waiting for their chance, and Bruce wasn't about to give them the chance to rear their damn heads. Not now, now when she was so vulnerable. His expression was calm, a small smile on his lips as he tried to comfort her.

"I don't see another option. I can't leave; I'm too much of a threat—to you and to the world." She'd thought about it one too many times and couldn't find a scenario that tipped in favor of her leaving, not unless she isolated herself in Antarctica (and man had she considered it.) Bruce had moved right in front of her now, hands on her shoulders and brown eyes clear as they stared into hers. She swallowed the lump rising in her throat.

"Repressing and isolating yourself only makes it worse. Trust me." His smile was sad, and Nat felt the familiar tug on her heart strings. Her blue eyes didn't pull away from his brown ones, but she bit on her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

"So what do I do, doctor?" She felt her stomach bottom out with the words as the mass of emotions she'd kept hidden suddenly surged forward, sharks who'd just smelled blood in the water. She didn't dare to hope that he could help her; she couldn't even help herself, why should she have expected any help to come from the man just opposite her? Her doubts weren't enough to stop the next words from leaving her mouth, though: "Bruce, I'm at the end of my rope. What do I do?" She let him brush her arm with his hand. His touch was gentle enough that she let her eyes close, squeezing them hard together. When they opened once more they had tears in them. Bruce couldn't hide the shock from his face.

Since the Hellicarrier Bruce had hardly seen her so much as wince or shudder, no matter the situation. Even a smile was rare for her, and each one that she graced them with was treated as special. So Natasha crying? He didn't know how to react to that. His mouth ran dry and he felt the familiar tug for him to pull himself away. Emotions were messy, they got complicated and nine times out of ten resulted in a green affair and broken bones. But she needed him, and he pulled her closer into a tight embrace. She was as surprised as he was, and stayed stiff in his arms at first, unsure. Clint was usually the only one she let embrace her, and that had taken years for him to work up to, years of him building her trust.

But she relaxed in Bruce's arms once she told herself to stop thinking and just breathe. Just breathe him in, and lose herself in the smell of some sort of cologne, musk, and the usual, clean scent she associated with the lab. Almost a mix of oil and chemicals. The smell of ingenuity; the smell of Bruce, and Tony on the days he didn't spend in his work shop. She closed her eyes once more and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her nails bit into her palms, digging them in so she could focus on the pain and not the wobbling chin or the way her body was shaking in his hold.

"C'mon, let's go lay down," Bruce murmured, voice quiet in her ear and breath warm and comfortable against her skin. Nat nodded, her next breath trembling as she tried to calm herself down. Tried to breathe and relax and let him lead her to safety. He was gentle as he laid her down on her side on the bed, spreading the comforter and blankets away before hand so that when he finally put her down he was able to tuck all of the blankets around her, cocooning her in. He smiled when he pulled away and looked at his handiwork, remembering his mother having done something similar to him when he hadn't felt well.

"Bruce." Her voice was hoarse and came to him just as he was about to turn and leave. He'd said his piece and then he was going to leave, that was the deal he'd made with himself. He didn't want to chance either of them losing it, not when they were this close and the other Avengers weren't allowed up on Nat's floor. He'd barely gotten Jarvis to let him make it up to her floor.

"Bruce. Please stay." She'd turned around slightly to face him, blue eyes bloodshot but fixated on him. He smiled and looked down at the ground, taken aback.

"You really want me to stay?" He couldn't believe it, even as the words made it out of his lips.

"Please."

He nodded and slowly took off his shoes, putting them to the side of the bed before he climbed in next to her. "Under or over?"

"Under. I just want someone to hold me. You to hold me. You're the only one-."

"Shh, I know Nat. I know." He crawled under the covers towards the warm, snuggled up woman, and his arms wrapped around her. Her hands found his and their fingers laced together as she drew another shaky breath, her back pressed to his chest so he could feel every shake of her body. Bruce found himself inhaling deeply when she relaxed into his hold, his fingers squeezing hers gently, reassuring her that yes, he was here. And no, he wasn't leaving. She was breathing shallowly, though it was so quiet that he could hardly hear it..

"Natasha?" he asked, voice quiet.

She swallowed audibly, "Yeah?" she asked, voice mostly held together with just the faintest hint of a tremble.

"You can cry. It's just you and me, Nat. Just you and me, and what happens up here, well, I'm not about to blab to anyone. You know that."

She sniffled, and then her frame started to shake as Natasha let herself let go. She sobbed for some time, Bruce didn't bother keeping track because it was none of his business, and he would hold her until the storm subsided. He would hold her because he knew that she needed it. Hell he was beginning to think he needed it, already feeling better once she'd let go. He might even join her another time, he thought. But for the time being he relaxed, let her cling to him as she allowed herself to unravel in his arms. Pride flared through his veins, and he knew he was one of the lucky few for her to ever let in like this. They had an understanding, as strange as it would have seemed, the monsters within the pair forcing them to band together if they wanted to even remain remotely human.

When she was all done he kissed the back of her head and squeezed her sides gently.

"Thank you," she whispered, her breathing evening out as her voice regained its normal confidence and strength. But she didn't pull away, choosing instead to nestle closer, and he heard her murmured hum of contentment. "Stay with me, Bruce?"

"Of course Nat." Because she needed him, and for once it was nice to be needed. Really needed. And if he was honest with himself he needed her just as badly.

* * *

A/N: I don't own any of the Marvel characters. The title comes from the song "Needing/Getting" by OK GO, which I don't own the rights to either.


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